A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

Eric returned to the camp on the small hill not far from Antioch.

Although the winters in Antioch were not particularly cold, at least much milder than in Normandy, it had snowed for the past two days. The temperature dropped even further, making camping in the wild an unpleasant experience. The snow would soak the bottom of the tents, and it would get even colder in a few days when the snow melted.

Furthermore, out of fear of harassment and raids from the Turkic Cavalry Archers, they had to remain fully armed at nearly all times. They wore their Chain Armor, with their kite-shaped Shields perpetually slung over their backs or hung from the pommels of their saddles.

Whether marching or sleeping, they would only partially unfasten their armor when they needed to relieve themselves.

Some Knights began to complain that if this continued, their shoulders would be too sore to lift their Lances and Swords long before they even reached Jerusalem.

As soon as Eric arrived at the camp, he learned that a dispute had broken out during his absence. The cause, as expected, was the Christians who had been nailed to the Antioch Gate.

A group of Nobility, led by Count Evler, had tried to rescue those Christians, only to be forcefully stopped by the Count of Ghent.

The confrontation had left both sides on very bad terms.

“Lord Eric, we came here to save the Christians of the East, to rescue our brothers in faith! Yet now we stand by and watch as they are killed!”

“Lord Eric, the Turkic People cannot be trusted! They cannot be trusted! We should be fighting them to the last!”

“Lord Gloucester, this is a Holy War! A Holy War! God is watching us! And yet, we are making peace with the Turkic People!”

“Lord Gloucester, you may be a man of great talent, but I can never approve of what you have done this time!”

“Gloucester, this isn’t your theater! This is our battlefield! Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!”

“…”

A powerful tide of dissent spread through the Crusaders, almost completely overshadowing any benefits Eric had gained from Suleiman Shah.

“Avoiding a fight is not what I desire. I swear to you on my honor as a Count, the Cross will one day stand forever on all the lands we have tread. One day, we will drive out all the Heretics and inflict upon them the harshest of punishments—including Antioch, which is stained with the blood of Christians. But that day is not today.

Because we have a more urgent task. We will march farther south to reclaim the great city of Jerusalem! The Holy Sepulchre calls to us! There, we will bring joy to God, and God’s joy will make our Swords invincible throughout Syria.”

Eric could only promise them that they would take Antioch in the near future. He delivered this part of his speech specifically in the Norman dialect to prevent Turandot from understanding.

“While God watches over us, the Devil is watching us as well. May the Holy Spirit sharpen our wits.” The Pope’s Envoy, Bishop Admar, shot Eric a cold glance.

The day’s events had caused the devout Bishop’s opinion of Eric to plummet, bordering on disgust.

“I said it before! We should be making them tremble before the bright edges of our Swords, not earning their contempt and disdain with schemes and plots!” Count Evler said, getting carried away and growing particularly brazen.

Eustace, Count of Boulogne, also looked at Eric and said, “Earl of Gloucester, I hope your future decisions will be sufficiently wise and cautious, and that you will consider the opinions of the other Counts and Barons.

There is a saying in Flanders that you should know: even a King relies on his Counts to rule the kingdom.”

With that, Eustace clapped Eric on the shoulder and walked away.

Eric stood rooted to the spot, his brow furrowed. He felt a headache coming on. Just then, he noticed Stephen slowly approaching.

Sensing Eric’s gaze, Stephen immediately thumped his chest and declared in a remarkably earnest tone, “Eric, no matter what happens, I’ll always be on your side.”

“Thanks.” Eric let out a soft sigh, a rare smile gracing his lips.

However, Stephen suddenly looked a little awkward. He scratched the back of his head, his expression hesitant. “Also…”

“What is it?”

“That brocade robe you’re wearing is really nice. (●’◡’●)”

“Go fuck yourself. (╬▔▔)”

Eric nearly choked.

Seeing Eric’s anger, Stephen immediately shrank back and put on an innocent expression. In the end, however, Eric resignedly gave him the Persian brocade robe he had received from Suleiman Shah.

Watching Stephen walk away, satisfied with his new robe, Eric sighed and shook his head in self-mockery. ‘I’m truly at a loss with him.’